But With A Whimper
by Macushla
Summary: As events tumble out of control, Linka's faith in science and order is challenged.  Will humanity survive or is it doomed to destruction by fate?
1. Chapter 1

This story is an attempt at a first-person account. I got tired of wrestling with the third-person omniscient that I was using for "The Hardest Choice". Besides, I got stuck on that story's direction. _This_, however, has a direction and I can't wait to see where it takes me...and you too, hopefully. It is currently gestating in a miniature red composition book during my free periods at school. Please, enjoy Chapter One, with Chapter Two hot on its heels, I promise.

Still don't own any of this.

"But With A Whimper"

by Macushla

Chapter I

At that particular moment, I could not imagine hating anything more than the cold rain that fell throughout the morning. The stinging pellets were just above the temperature of ice, and rather than freezing my hair to my face, they had instead reduced it to an unmanageable mess that impeded my vision. I wished it would just turn to snow. I loved snow. This was nightmare.

My fingers numbly struggled to tighten a knot in the damp rope. I half-noticed my chipped and broken nails, the raw redness of the skin on my hands. Before I could even register how cold and sore I truly was, the rain began to pound harder. I desperately tried to use my poncho-covered elbow to push the sopping blond strands away from my eyes so I could see what I was doing. Over the chaotic din, I heard a voice behind me.

"Hey, babe, you got that yet? They really need this tent tied down."

One could imagine my irritation.

"Yankee, for God's sake! I am doing the best that I can! I can barely feel my fingers!" I glared at him, watching raindrops plaster his dark red hair to his forehead. "I will be done as soon as I can. I am trying. Why do you not do something useful and leave me alone?"

He grunted, now clearly irritated as well. This was always how it was – we would take turns saying things to infuriate one another until we fought. With Wheeler and me, it was always one step away from Chernobyl. And we kept discovering new buttons to push on one another.

"Look," he was saying, reaching past me to grab the rope I had been working on for ten minutes, "if you need a man to handle it, just say so."

_Prekrasno_. Not a new button. An old one.

"I do not need your help! When do I _ever_ need your help?" I was still holding on to my rope with such ferocity that I could feel the rope burn cutting gashes in my skin. It had been a long, long morning. First, I had to pilot through some of the worst weather I had seen in my time as a Planeteer. I was completely on edge by the time we landed in Hungary, not to mention (if I were to admit it) exhausted. And then the plant closure was a mess, as we were met with more difficulty that we anticipated.

Bozhe moy, people had been falling sick from contamination-related diseases for months, and they were fighting the plant's closing! Unbelievable. When the inevitable explosion occurred, there was nowhere around to shelter the people. Schrappnel flew in every direction – catching a girl on the leg, grazing Gi's hand – and I, at 22 years old, was the closest to a doctor they could get. I was directing clueless and frightened townspeople to get water and bandages, feeling a long way from any Magyar I might have picked up years ago.

Eventually, blood-caked, weary, and disgruntled, we were left to set up temporary shelters for the people who had spat on us earlier. And now – _now_ – Wheeler was taunting me and questioning my ability. It made me insane how he never missed an opportunity to reinforce the degree to which he judged me by my gender: You are so pretty, Linka. Do you want to go out with me, Linka? You need help, _babe_?

I found myself contemplating where the rope could be put to better use – on the tent or around his neck.

We glared at each other. These moments occurred far more often than I would like to admit, and I had always wondered how we did not end up killing each other at times like these. As I stood there freezing in the miserable rain with my extremities numb and my breath creating angry bursts of condensation in the air, I thought long and hard about grabbing him by the neck, talking him, and kissing him all over his stupid face.

Have I not mentioned how intensely complicated my relationship with Wheeler was?

I let go of my end of the rope and took some small satisfaction as Wheeler stumbled back a few steps. I shoved my sore hands in my parka. "Fine, Yankee. You know what? You can do it. You are the big, strong man, _da_?" I turned my heel and started to walk back towards the plant rubble. "I will go do little girl things. Please, let me know if you need help with making the cookies, OK?"

He looked back at me, frowning sullenly. I could push buttons, too.

This time, he was in the wrong. I was woman enough to admit when it was me, but this time, certainly him. And in the middle of this mess, as well. Excellent timing, Yankee. _Otlichno_. An apology would be nice, but I was not anticipating one. Not yet, anyway. He would most likely wait until he managed, through sheer luck, to do something heroic or brave. Then he would look at me with those clear blue eyes. He would put on a sad puppy dog expression and say he was sorry. And, in all likelihood, I would forgive him. It was a ridiculous weakness that I had never been able to shake in over six years of being a Planeteer.

The rain had let up a little, leaving behind a raw chill in the air. I checked in with some of the injured people, tightening a compress here and re-bandaging there. One of the plant owners sat cradling his arm. He was a large man with a massive stomach and a cold face that matched the wind. He had threatened us earlier; he had said he would kill anyone who tried to close down his business. The man was no more friendly now, but he was obviously in pain. I took a breath and approached him. "Do you need help?"

The Hungarian man looked at me and scoffed. "I do not need help from a little girl, that is certain."

_Tak_._Snova e snova_. Was this the theme of the day?

I took a few more steps towards him, getting a better view of his arm, the angle of his shoulder. "Your shoulder is dislocated. It must be tended to. I can help you."

He glared at me, anger rising in his dark eyes. "I told you to leave me alone!"

"Look!" I shouted, my temper – my greatest vice – mounting. "My friends and I have put up with quite enough here! You opened the plant, though you knew it was dangerous. You chose not to close it even after we presented the evidence of explosive chemicals. And now you are sitting here with a dislocated shoulder, watching as we help your neighbors. Let me help you so you can get off your _hájas segg_ and help us."

He blinked slowly and stood up. I guessed that my Magyar was not as far gone as I had thought. If only I could do a better job remembering the nice words rather than the more nasty ones, this whole thing would go more smoothly.

I gripped the man's wrist tightly and placed my other hand near his shoulder. He winced in pain as I braced myself. I noticed his expression and shook my head. "It is going to hurt far more than that, I am afraid. I am going to pull your wrist as I push back on your shoulder. That will move the joint into the correct position and keep it from beginning to heal incorrectly before you see a doctor. But it is only temporary. You get it checked when this is over, OK?"

The man nodded. He was scared, afraid of the pain, but I had no time to coddle him.

"_Odin', dva, tre_!"

I yanked down and the man yelped – a funny, high-pitched sound so completely out of place that I almost laughed aloud. But even as he whimpered, I could see he was moving with more ease. "Is that better?"

He was gently rotating his arm, exploring the new range of motion. "Yes. Yes, it is better. Thank-you."

I felt a small smile flitter on my lips for the first time that day. "You are welcome. Now, come. The people need your help over in the tents. They need food and water. You can help them with that."

The man lumbered off to finally do his job as I headed around the corner. A tin can spun on the ground near my boot, carried by the wind. I almost tripped over it. Litter did seem to be the very least of our problems in this city, but I could not bring myself to let it sit there. Once a Planeteer, always a Planeteer.

As I bent over to pick it up, a larger form collided with me and knocked me to the ground. The impact was so sudden that the air left my lungs. I was surprised to find Kwame on top of me. "Kwame, what is –" But then I heard it too.

"Gunshots!" Kwame yelled, his normally calm voice panicked. "Get down, everyone!"

I tried to regain my breath as I carefully glanced around to catch a glimpse of the rest of our friends. Ma-Ti was nearby, sheltering a baby in his strong arms and guiding a few terrified children behind a broken structure behind us. A moment later, I caught sight of Gi huddled on the far side of the plant. She was curled up so tightly that she looked to be half of her already slight size. And about a block away, I quickly realized, was the gunman.

He was maybe seventeen or eighteen years old, looking feral and frightened as he brandished his gun in a shaking hand. He was standing in the middle of the square, near where we had been setting up tents, and screaming at the top of his lungs. His words were so incoherent that I could not understand any of what he was saying, and that made me even more frightened.

As I looked past him into the tent village, I could see the plant owner hiding with several other people, none of whom I recognized. A thrill of fear ran through me as I hazarded a look over Kwame's back to the place where I had been tying down tents.

At first, I did not see him. Then, Wheeler's form moved out of the shadows, coming full speed towards the young man with the gun.

_Bozhe moy_.

Wheeler smacked into him hard, knocking the younger man to the ground forcefully. The gun was let loose from his hand and skidded across the cold pavement. Before I was fully aware of what I was doing, I found myself on my feet and sprinting towards the weapon, with Kwame yelling out behind me. I had always been a strong runner, but in those desperate moments, I was moving more quickly than I had ever been capable before. Time seemed to be moving very slowly, and I was acutely aware of my own breath and heartbeat as I raced in Wheeler's direction.

I reached for the gun, always keeping an eye on the American, who had just absorbed a blow to the face by the gunman. He responded with a punch of his own, and the Hungarian man hit the cement in a rough heap.

My senses came back to me suddenly, and I had enough mind to put the safety on the gun. I felt shaky; I hated handling guns. Wheeler stood slowly then, his eye just beginning to show signs of swelling. A small trickle of blood was trailing down his chin. He held the disoriented gunman in place until two authorities moved into place to take the man away. One of them clapped Wheeler on the shoulder, saying something like "Good work." He just shrugged and put his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Another authority came over to me to take care of the gun. I gratefully turned the weapon over and made my way towards the American. "Wheeler," I began, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He straightened gingerly and looked down at me with his better eye as I surveyed him quickly for any major damage. I was purely in clinical mode, objectively checking an injury victim for any less obvious problems. In truth, I was a little angry. How dare he risk his life like that? Did he not realize that he was part of a team and he had a responsibility to us? What could he have been thinking? I tried to keep my hands from becoming too rough as the irritated thoughts tumbled through my head.

Suddenly, he gently touched my cheek. "Hey. It's OK, Lin."

It was then that I realized I was crying.

Embarrassed, I looked down and brushed the tears away as surrepititiously as possible. "I – I was just making sure you were alright. I saw him hit you and I..I just…" I swallowed hard, cursing myself silently for this moment of weakness in front of him. In front of him, of all people.

Finally, I found my strength and looked back up at him, moving my hand to touch the purpling skin under his left eye. He winced under my touch. It was almost imperceptible, but I saw it. I was always the one to see what Wheeler was hiding.

I felt tears burn in my throat again and fought hard against them. I grabbed his hand; his fingers were warm against my cold and shaking ones. "Come on," I said, "we must go find the others."

I felt a resistance as I turned. I glanced back.

His head was down, and the icy wind was blowing his unruly red hair in every direction. I felt my heart beat a little faster. When he looked back up, he fixed his gaze on me. "I just wanted you to know, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I didn't mean it, babe." His voice was quiet and full of sincerity.

Damn you, Yankee.

I sighed and tightened my grip on his hand. "It is OK, Wheeler. Let us go."

The others met us at a gallop through the havoc of the crowd. Fortunately, the local law enforcement had managed to move in to control some of the situation. It had taken gunshots to convince them of the seriousness of the situation. It was very disappointing. "Is everyone alright?" asked Kwame, frowning with concern.

Gi's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Wheeler…"

He let go of my hand to touch the dried blood on his chin. "Oh. Yeah. I'm fine, Gi. Really, no big deal."

She looked unconvinced, but let it drop for the moment. I was certain she would be fussing over him for the rest of our trip. An odd feeling shot through me at this realization. I quickly brought my thoughts back to the matter at hand. "What has happened here? Who was that man with the gun? Why in the world was he shooting at us?"

My gaze fell on Ma-Ti, who had been contemplatively quiet so far. I had never been one for sharing my emotions, and, in a very small way, Ma-Ti tended to unnerve me more than anyone else. I was not used to revealing more about myself than what was absolutely necessary, and from the start, I had had a tacit uneasiness about his power. I truly had come to love him as a younger brother, but I knew there was a separation between us that I constantly preserved. Now, however, I looked to him to give us some insight on the madman who had attacked us.

Ma-Ti shook his head grimly. "I could not understand most of what he was thinking. His thoughts were very agitated."

Wheeler sniffed next to me. "You don't say," he commented softly.

Ma-Ti continued. "But there was a sense of urgency, as though he was afraid of something that was about to happen. Like there was…like there was an impending doom."

We were all quiet for a moment before Wheeler shifted his weight and muttered, "Must be Tuesday."

"Well," Kwame began, suddenly appearing tired and older than his 23 years, "we still have a job to do, Planeteers. Let us get back to work. We must help these people rebuild and find a way to move on."

My shoulders straightened at his words and I cast Kwame a small, grateful smile. At moments like this, there was nothing I appreciated more than his quiet leadership and integrity. He often provided me the extra strength that I pretended to have when I was afraid.

But as we set about finishing the tent triage, I found that I could not shake the fear that had managed to creep into me. As I caught Wheeler's eye on the way back to the Geo-Cruiser late that night, I could see the slightly-haunted look in his pale and beaten face. He felt it, too. I did not sleep at all the entire trip back to Hope Island.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 3 is almost done, so I offer you Chapter 2 on this cold and snowy December day. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and is cheering this thing on. Yesterday was my grandfather's 89th birthday, by the way. He has lived such an amazing life - help give out foodstuffs during the Great Depression, served in the army during WWII, survived cancer and is still the world's biggest Philadelphia Phillies baseball fan! Incredible. Anyway, "Frosty The Snowman" is on. Gotta go. Look for some more before Christmas. Here we go, Steelers, here we go! 

Chapter 2

Morning came too early the next day. The alarm at six o'clock interrupted a fitful sleep, scattered with nightmares that I could not rationalize or reason. I had no idea when I had managed to drift off the night before, but I could not have gotten more than an hour or so of sleep. And that sleep had assaulted rather than refreshed me.

My morning run even lacked its usual satisfaction. My legs felt as though they were churning through quicksand, and not the densely packed soil at the edge of the ocean. The result was that I returned to my hut feeling more exhausted than when I left. I groaned as my muscles pulsed with fatigue. As Wheeler would say, this morning I could not get my ass in gear.

It had been quite a while since I had dealt with the nightmares. I had been plagued with bad dreams in my childhood. Often, I would dream that I was in flight with every bird I could imagine. Then, suddenly, I would find myself falling with terminal velocity, and eventually I would hit the earth, left to die alone, abandoned.

I had never told anyone about those dreams, not my friends, not even Mishka. As a girl, I had been disturbed by my inability to control my own thoughts in the night. It was embarrassing, in a way. Eventually, I came to realize that my mind had not yet adjusted to my parents' deaths, and that understanding stabilized me. The nightmares stopped coming. Since then, logic had been my salvation. It steadied me to know that I could always manage to be practical when it came to seeing the big portrait – the big _picture_ – in most situations.

So, I was at a loss to explain how the events in Hungary had shaken me to the point where I found myself tumbling through the sky in my sleep. What was I not seeing, not understanding? I sighed, lost in the frustration of it.

Later that morning, Gaia briefed us on the fallout of the situation with the gunman. He had been placed in an insane asylum, still ranting about the end being near. It was, admittedly, a statement that was quite typical at such an establishment. I latched onto that thought and let it calm me, subconsciously aware that it had likely come from Ma-Ti. I snuck a look at his lean form as Gaia discussed the need to proceed with more caution on our missions. He gave me a small smile, but his expression was weary. We all looked somewhat the worse for wear, stripped of our youthful exuberance by the difficulty of this last mission. Nightmares be damned – we could all use some more sleep.

"That is why I am sending you to Burma."

I snapped back at Gaia's statement. "Burma?" asked Gi. Usually, she relished any opportunity to be back in Asia. A visit to a native continent was typically our version of a homecoming. Wheeler had actually performed an impromptu dance when we were sent to British Columbia recently. Then again, I had also looked forward to going to Hungary. I could understand Gi's hesitation.

"That's right, Gi," Gaia was saying. "Recent riots have made some areas a human rights disaster. The people are in need of both political and physical aid."

Gi nodded. "I know Gaia. It's really bad. Kids throwing Molotov cocktails. Self-immolating monks. Really bad. But, it's just…" she gestured with her hands and looked around at all of us, "well…"

"I think what Gi is saying," Kwame jumped in and she breathed gratefully, "is that we are all tired. Yesterday was hard on all of us." He glanced down at Gi's bandaged hand and then at Wheeler, who had been conspicuously quiet. "But my friends, we know the people of Burma are tired as well. If they were too tired to fight, who will fight for them. We can help, and therefore, we must help."

Kwame's speeches could get a little ostentatious sometimes. There was a moment of silence. Then, Wheeler: "With great power comes great responsibility."

I shot a look at him. Spider-Man? He shrugged his shoulders in my direction and gave me a furtive wink. He had made me watch the movie last week, and knew that I would be the only one to understand his reference. The tension holding me hostage released and my mind settled back into its usual focus. Wheeler being Wheeler always seemed to be the key to putting everything in perspective.

"Right," I began, placing a hand on Kwame's shoulder. "Let us figure out how to approach this problem constructively. We need to increase grassroots support of the counter-totalitarian movement. Gi, can you check out our contacts with Amnesty International and women's groups in the region?"

"Yup," she responded, her dark eyes reflecting her typical enthusiasm for this type of work. She smiled at me before she left the room with her laptop tucked under her arm.

"Control freak," she mouthed silently.

I felt my lips form a small smile. "Ma-Ti?" I turned to him. His youthful face was shining back at me with such pride. He knew I had been scared, I thought. He knew I was scared and now he is proud of me. I shifted my weight in disconcertion. "Buddhist contacts? They are the resistance leaders and you have had good relations with them in the past. Did you not receive a commendation from the Tibetan monastery recently?"

He grinned. "Yes, Linka. I will talk to them." I realized that he wanted to say more, but he wisely chose not to do so. I opened my mind just enough to silently thank him. It was a rare allowance for me, and he nodded in appreciation.

"I will get in touch with the Burmese government – the legitimate one," offered Kwame. A lesser leader would have certainly chaffed if someone else had stepped in as I had done. But Kwame – supportive, compassionate Kwame – was ready to play any role that was necessary. I needed this; I needed to take control of a situation.

I turned to Wheeler, who was looking at me expectantly. "So, I'm with you, right, babe?"

I sighed. "We will work on food and water distribution, Yankee. There is a desperate need for medical supplies as well, so we will be working in that capacity, too." I had not intended for he and I to work together. I always felt immensely self-conscious when scenarios arose that caused us to interact closely with one another. There was nothing I feared more than the others viewing these occurrences as convenient opportunities for Wheeler and I to be alone together. That was never the case. Never.

In truth, he and I were actually fairly effective as a team. He tended to press my hesitance into action and I tempered his impulsiveness. His creativity complemented my practicality. And, in all honesty, there was no one I trusted more than him. I knew, deep down, that he would do anything for me. He had risked his life for me so many times, that it had become impossible to ignore. Unfortunately, that could also prove to be a distraction. Maybe one time, it would cause him to overlook something, or take an unnecessary risk, or move a bit too recklessly.

And what if I lost him…

I felt my cheeks flush and Wheeler's bemused grin before me. To compensate for my tangent thoughts, I pushed past him roughly. "Let us get ready to go."

There was a twinge of regret that ran through me as the hurt expression registered on his handsome face. Why did I always hurt him?

But there was no time to consider such things now. There was an emergency to attend to. Again.

* * *

It was over a four hour flight to south Asia, and I was full of nervous energy. I tried to spend that energy by fingering scales on the back of Wheeler's seat. A-major. A-minor. Inverse. Transpose to B-flat. 

Mid-way through my silent rendition of _Eine Kleine Nachtmusik_, Wheeler spun around and caught my wrists. "Babe. Seriously."

At first, I was irritated, then I broke into quiet laughter. "Sorry, Yankee. I guess I have a lot on my mind right now."

He joined in my laughter. "Yeah. I know what you mean. What was that anyway – your latest symphony?"

He was still holding my wrists, but I made no attempt to pull back from him. "That was Mozart, _durak_! But I appreciate that you would assume that such a piece was mine. You must think that I am quite talented, _da_?"

It was baiting, and I knew it as the words left my mouth. But that day, I did not care. I needed something to distract me from the unease of morning.

Sure enough. "I'm sure you're very talented, Beautiful. Maybe sometime you could share some of your lesser-known talents with me."

His face was very close to mine. As often as I had bickered with him over such comments, they always sent warm waves through my body. I must have still been in a moment of weakness from lack of sleep, because I said, "Oh, really? I honestly do not know if you would be able to handle them."

Wheeler chuckled and moved an index finger to trace my jaw. I held my breath, still surprised at the way his mere touch could send my senses into overdrive. He leaned in just a bit closer, and I had all but forgotten about the other three people in the craft. "Try me."

The situation was going much further than I anticipated. Mentally, it had gone further still. I already had his shirt off in my mind's eye. Somehow, I pulled myself back from the brink, blushing furiously. "Kwame," I said, briskly turning my attention back to reality. "How much further is it to Burma?"

Kwame took his eyes off the horizon for just a moment to look back at me. His face was fixed in an obvious attempt to hide his amusement. "Just another hour or so."

I undid my seatbelt, carefully avoiding Wheeler's eyes. "I will pilot the rest of the way."

"Are you sure, Linka? You just piloted yesterday. I really do not mind…"

"I know," I interrupted him quickly and settled down in the seat as he stood. "What, do you think that I cannot handle it two days in a row?" It was a standard defense mechanism – attack whomever is close at hand, usually someone wholly undeserving of it. Kwame had caught it this time. I felt guilty immediately. "Sorry," I said softly.

He patted my shoulder gently. "It is OK, Linka. We are all a little worn out right now. I understand."

I gave him a tiny, repentant smile and squeezed his hand. He made his way back to the seat behind Wheeler, who was staring out the window sadly. I sighed as I took in the image. Sometimes, I truly hated the way I acted. Especially when I thought about all the times he had saved me: pleading with me to give up Bliss, sheltering me in the electronic Utopia gone awry, following me to Russia and rescuing me time and time again. Like Orpheus. Better than I deserved, really. I made a poor Eurydice.

I was due for an apology to him, anyway. I took a deep breath and turned around to make my penance. "Wheeler…"

He was asleep. His face was serene and his hair tossled. He looked like a little boy, and my heart warmed as I watched him. Later, I swore to myself. Later I would apologize.

* * *

When we finally landed, we found the environment in Burma to be no less hostile than it had been in Hungary. We split up, making promises to check in frequently. Safer this time, we agreed. Safer, safer, safer. 

Kwame dropped Wheeler and me off outside Dawei before he headed to Rangoon to make some progress with the government. I bent down to heave my supply pack onto my shoulder. Wheeler touched my arm gently. "Allow me," he said, hoisting both bags onto his back.

The immediate reaction I felt was to tell him, no, I could get it myself. _Spaciba_,_no ne spaciba_. But this time, I managed to stop myself. _Nyet_, Linka. It was about time to break the cycle.

"Wheeler," I bit my lip. This was not easy for me. "I am sorry"

I realized that he was staring at me and forced myself to meet his gaze. He was surprised – truly surprised. My heart sank a little. Was it so rare for me to own up to my behavior? "Earlier. In the Cruiser. If I hurt your feelings…I wanted you to know I am sorry."

A smile slowly spread across his face. I could not help but smile back – his eyes lit up like the sky on a summer day when he smiled. He carefully took the bags off his back and opened his arms wide enough to invite me in. It was an invitation I happily accepted.

Wheeler's embrace was strong and I inhaled his husky, masculine scent. The south Asian breeze was dense and warm, and his perspiration mingled with mine. As I stood there holding his solid form, I let myself forget about the Burmese people. I forgot about the nightmares. I forgot about the Hungarian gunman. And as his hands massaged the small of my back, I was willing to forget about everything.

My fingers curled in the hair on the nape of his neck, and my breath fell on his cheek. I kissed him there, gently, and he readjusted his hold around my waist, pulling me closer.

After a moment, I recalled that there was the matter of a mission to attend to. "Alright," I sighed at length, reluctantly disengaging myself from the embrace. "We must go."

He shook his head, a rueful smile on his face. "Oh, yeah. We've got a job to do, huh?"

I leaned over to grab my pack, and blushed as I felt Wheeler's eyes linger on my legs as I straightened in front of him. His face was flushed, whether from the heat or our contact, I was unsure. "Ready?" I asked.

He nodded. "Lead the way."

And we began our trek into the Burmese village together.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the delay. This has actually been finished for 2 weeks, but both my husband an I have been off school and we have but one computer at home. And apparently XBox live cannot connect wirelessly without an $80 thingamabob, so I have been aced out of submitting this chapter by my husband's ardent need to use our computer to trash talk gamers in St. Louis and Vancouver while playing NHL '08. Also, anyone else see CP's appearance on the "Imaginationland" episode of "South Park"?

"But With A Whimper"

Chapter 3

I felt focused and ready by the time we entered Q'shin, in the southern province of Burma. I was anticipating being able to hop right – _nyet_, jump right in and assist with food and water distribution. I had carefully loaded our bags with water purification tablets, seeds and med-packs containing penicillin, aspirin, vitamins, and baby formula.

"Baby formula?" Wheeler asked, rummaging through the supplies as we walked.

The necessity for the formula was obvious as we entered the single, ramshackle hospital, which was our contact as the distribution point. One of the doctors – young, overworked – led us into the nursery, where a few harried-looking nurses were trying to tend to dozens of tiny, bawling infants.

I quickly pulled the formula from my bag. "The poor things," I breathed. My hands worked rapidly as I prepared a slew of bottles and thrust one into Wheeler's hand. "Here."

He held the bottle, looking at me half-stupidly. Maybe completely stupidly. "What?"

I exhaled angrily, expelling as much of my current frustration as I possibly could. I made my way over to one of cribs, gently picking up a mewling baby and lifting him from his bed. The baby's face was scrunched up and red and his tiny mouth was round as he cried. "Shhh," I whispered softly, cradling him in my arms as I walked over to my partner, who was shifting nervously. "Are you hungry, little one?" I asked. "Do not worry. Your Uncle Wheeler will feed you." And I carefully placed the baby in his arms. He looked completely awkward, completely terrified. This was a man who had taken out a madman with a gun the previous day, reduced to a state of near-paralysis over a baby.

I gently pushed him towards a nearby chair. As he walked away, the doctor approached me for help with vaccinations. I left the room, casting a glance over my shoulder at the American, now gingerly guiding the bottle into the baby's mouth. "I will be right back, Yankee," I called, but I did not think he heard me.

Vaccinations went smoothly, especially compared to countries in the west. There, children would scream at the first glint of the needle. Here, on the other hand, in the so-called Third World, children were too tired, too hungry to be concerned about the slender hypodermics entering their arms. I would certainly prefer the screaming of a child over the mournful, dead look in these children's eyes as I administered the vaccines.

It took me well over three hours to take care of the ward with the single doctor on staff. My back ached. My head ached. All part of the job, _da_?

As I wearily made my way back to retrieve Wheeler, I composed a list of our next steps. Organize the distribution point. Water first. Then food. Safe sex education. It was going to be a long evening.

I quietly entered the neo-natal unit and glanced around, expecting to see my American companion shirking his responsibility. He would be fiddling with his I-Pod, I figured. Maybe downloading games on his cell phone. Or texting. Texting some girl. Making a date with her. Telling her that he would get out of Burma as soon as possible, that he would be more than happy to forget his mission and the fact that his co-worker had been working her _dupa_ off all day while he was organizing his little excursion. Well, _k chortu s toboi_, Yankee. My temper was broiling away as I surveyed the room.

He was in a corner, a tiny infant nestled in his arms. He was swaying slowly, and seemed to be in quiet conversation with the baby. My heart warmed in my chest and I found myself blinking back unexpected tears. Not in a thousand years, I thought, shaking my head. Not in a million.

I approached him and cleared my throat. He looked up, surprised and a little embarrassed. "Oh…hey, Lin," he said, gently placing the baby back in her crib. "You ready to go already?"

"Already?" I asked, smiling at him. "It has been four hours. We need to get ready to distribute water and food in the square."

His eyes looked distinctly blue as they flickered back to glance at the baby in the crib. "Wow. Time flies."

I followed his eyes. Full of surprises, as always, Yankee. "Are you ready to go?" I asked, fixing my gaze back at his face.

He was silent for a moment, and then he grinned at me. "Of course, babe. Why wouldn't I be?" He began to walk towards the door.

I smiled at his back as I let him lead the way out. "No reason, Yankee. None at all."

Even as the hour approached twilight, the blistering sun baked the landscape. It was still sweltering; everything around us was distorted by the haze of humidity. I wrung out my t-shirt and let the sweat drip onto the pavement. It was the kind of heat that made me feel sickened by my own stench, at least in the moments when I was aware of it. Most of the time, I found myself barraged by needy, desperate people. They were so obviously afraid, so lost. I allowed myself a glance at Wheeler, looking as out-of-place as I felt. He was gesturing to communicate as well as he could, but the language barrier was definitely augmenting the frustrated atmosphere. I wished I could help, but I was just as helpless as he.

Then, a streak of orange in the distance caught my eye. I gasped and shouted to get Wheeler's attention. He noticed where I was looking and spun in that direction. He turned back to me, his face utterly serious. "That definitely wasn't me. Let's go."

By the time we made it to the building, over half the structure was ablaze. The heat from it, even hundreds of meters away, was blindingly intense, exacerbated by the stifling weather. Some villagers were working in assembly-line fashion, toting buckets of water to douse the flames. I watched as our supplies of clean water were carried away to be thrown onto the fire. It would be a problem later, to be sure. However, there were other problems at hand. It seemed as though, in my life, there were always other problems at hand. I looked to Wheeler. "The others. Should we call them?"

I raised my ring, but he shook his head. "Nah, we can deal with this on our own. Come on!" He took off towards the group of villagers and I followed.

I could feel the intense heat scalding my cheeks hundreds of meters out. The flames began to lick at the outskirts of the town, near the arid brush of what had once been a forest. It was about to get worse – and quickly.

"Wheeler!" I called, choking on the dense smoke. My skin felt as though it were crackling into dust on my arms. "Yankee, you need to set that brush on fire!"

As he coughed, he looked over to me incredulously. "Are you out of your freakin' mind? We need less fire, not more!"

Irritation pricked at my brain. Damn it. Damn it, Wheeler. Why always the fight? Could he not just trust that I was right, that I absolutely knew what I was doing? "Well, we are about to get a lot more fire if that brush goes up on its own…which it will!" I grabbed his arm, tucking my face into my t-shirt. My eyes were stinging, and I could tell his were tearing too. "If we can set a controlled fire, just to clear out the dead foliage, we can prevent the spread by taking away excess fuel."

It made sense to him. I could see the understanding light his eyes. "Yeah, but babe – how do we control it? I mean this thing could go wild like a sorority chick on spring break if the slightest breeze took it…"

I had considered that, of course, and I smiled a bit shyly at him. He raised an eyebrow. "You could do that? You could keep this thing from moving on us?"

I shrugged. "Well,_da_. I mean, I think I can. I have been working on keeping an object stationary by counter-balancing the wind. It is very delicate work, and I have never tried it on something like this, but…" I trailed off as I noted the expression on his face. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. You." He looked towards the forest. "Well, I'll give it a try. Kiss for good luck?"

I folded my arms over my chest. "Why do you think you need luck? Do you not trust me?"

He chuckled and began to head off. "Jeez, never mind!" He walked a few more steps then turned back to me. "But if we're both burnt to a crisp because you wouldn't kiss me, you'll feel really stupid!"

I stood silently, regarding his rugged features for a moment. He really was an amazing man, I had to admit. And not so bad to look at either. I blew a kiss to him. "_Udachi_, Yankee."

Wheeler grabbed the imaginary kiss from the air and mimed putting it in his pocket. "Thanks, babe. I'll just save it for later." And he walked off to take care of his job.

* * *

As I stood there regarding the fire, which was dying very slowly, I put out my arms and felt the breeze. I had been working on an algorithm to determine how much force I should generate from my ring to counter the force of the wind. It was imperfect, and it worked much better when I knew how fast the air was moving. Here, it was all guesswork. And guesswork had its own special place on the list of things I hated – not too far from the cold rain in Hungary. And lives were at stake, as well.

I breathed as deeply as I could as the billowing smoked curled in the air. I would need to compensate for that, too. I would have to push harder to get through the layers of pollution. The deck had certainly not been stocked in my favor.

In the distance, I could see the bright shock of orange where Wheeler had begun his smaller fire. There was no way to go back now.

I watched the flames in front of me lean towards the south. My mind clicked away, registering how fast, how hard, and the angle of the tip of the flame. "Wind!"

I had over-compensated; I felt it immediately. The flames blew north, in the direction of some small houses. "_D'yermo_!" I cursed, and felt the urge to panic creeping into my chest. No, I thought. That is the one thing I could not succumb to.

"Wind!" I called again. The fire barely flickered. I concentrated harder, every cell in my body was forcing the wind to the south. For a moment, it looked as though it would again go too far, and leave me back where I began. But then, miraculously, It stood still.

I continued to focus on the wind as villagers around me brought pail upon pail of water to stop the fire. It was like running the Peace Marathon in Moscow – my arms and legs shook and I felt my breath growing shallow. My mind felt hazy and I became unaware of anything but the delicate calculations I needed to make to control the spread of the fire. Exhaustion was closing in on me, I could feel it. I fought back as hard as I could. When have you given up on anything, you stubborn girl? I asked myself. You want to start now, when everyone is counting on you?

But my vision was growing dark. I was going to pass out.

My mind was telling me to stop. I could hear it like a voice in my ears, "Stop! Stop! It's OK!"

"Cannot stop," I said aloud through gritted teeth. "Cannot stop. Cannot stop."

"Linka, stop. It's OK!" My mind had somehow developed an American accent. My thought reeled in confusion. "What…what is…?" Then, all was black.

* * *

My head ached – that was the first thing of which I was aware. Then my throbbing muscles. Then the arms that held me. "Wheeler?"

His face came into view, vaguely at first, then more clearly. He smiled gently at me. "Hey, babe, welcome back. How you feeling?"

I took stock quickly. "_Ustala. Bolit goliva. No, ne plokha_." He looked at me a bit wiltingly and I did not know why at first. Then it occurred to me that what I had spoken was not English. "I am fine," I clarified.

We were inside a building, sitting on a chair, and I was on his lap. I knew I should have been mortified, but I was too tired to even blush. "Where are we?"

He adjusted his arm around me. "At the hospital. You've been out for about two hours, and I wanted to get you in out of the sun. They didn't have a bed for you, so we've just been chillin' here for a while."

"Chilling?" I asked, astonished. It must have been 35 degrees in the room.

"Figure of speech. Sorry."

Suddenly, I remembered. "Wheeler! The fire! Is it…is everybody…?"

"Shh," he said, pressing a finger against my lips. "It's all OK, Lin. The fire didn't spread; it stopped right by the tree line. The villagers were able to deal with it quickly once it was contained. You were…" He looked at me, then smiled, shaking his head. "You were amazing, Linka. However you came up with what you did…it was incredible. I think some of the villagers have a sneaking suspicion that you're some kind of goddess. I really, really couldn't disagree with them."

I managed a small laugh. "_Da_, well, what kind of a goddess faints like I did?"

"Only the pretty ones," he said. "God, I'm glad you're OK."

I squeezed his hand on my waist. "I am fine, Wheeler. Were you able to find out what started the fire?"

His expression became more serious. He ran a hand through his hair. My heart started to beat a little faster. That was what Wheeler did when he was afraid to tell me something. I knew it with complete certainty. "What is it?" I asked, standing up. The world spun around me for a moment and I had to close my eyes against the wave of nausea. I braced myself on the arm of the chair.

Wheeler was at my side immediately. "Look, we'll talk about this later, babe. Why don't you sit down…"

I shrugged his arm off me. "_Nyet_, do not try to keep things from me! Tell me how the fire started!"

Instead of telling me, he took my hand and led me into an adjacent room. It was small, with only a tiny bed in the center of the room. All the other rooms were crowded with beds – why was this one by itself?

I took a step closer and saw a little child under the covers. He was asleep, but dreaming, talking in his sleep. I did not understand the words he was speaking. I turned to Wheeler. "Who is this boy? Why is he in this room by himself?"

Wheeler's blue eyes had shifted to a cloudy grey as he looked at me gravely from the doorway. "That kid," he began, "was found in a room in the corner of the burning building. He was surrounded my empty matchboxes. Linka, he set the fire. Intentionally."

The boy shifted in his sleep. He was very small – perhaps four or five years old. I was speechless for a moment as I looked from the child to Wheeler. "How could that be?"

"They say he's been saying the same thing over and over again," Wheeler continued, stepping forward to stand with me at the boy's bedside. His hand reached for mine and I linked our fingers together. "He's been saying the world is coming to an end."


	4. Chapter 4

_A long time in coming, but here is just a short chapter to keep this story alive. I have missed it so!_

I stood outside the makeshift hospital, occasionally panning the sky to watch for the others' return from the capital. Apparently, negotiations had been difficult, but were moving…not well, but as well as one could expect given the circumstances. The Buddhist presence, arranged by Ma-Ti, had been helpful. He had seemed quite excited at the small but positive steps taken when he communicated with us.

It was difficult to listen to his hopeful voice without giving him access to the thoughts that overwhelmed any congratulations I would have otherwise conferred on him.

I struggled to mentally bite my tongue as my mind wanted to say, "Oh, really, Ma-Ti? That is so nice that some men in suits and robes agreed that violence should end. And what exactly did they have to say about the heavily-medicated child who just tried to destroy a village? Was there no comment as to the world's apparently imminent demise? I see. _Izvinitiya, pazhalyusta_. I will let you attend to more pressing issues."

"Linka? Is everything OK?" Ma-Ti had asked. I could tell he was trying to scrutinize my state of mind, and I clamped down my defenses hard. I could hear his sharp intake of breath at how forcefully I had pushed him out.

"Fine, Ma-Ti. We shall see you soon."

I glanced over my shoulder. Wheeler was gathering the last of our empty supply bags. He was moving so slowly; it was as though I were watching him move in the same super-slow-motion with which he forced me to watch _The Wizard of Oz_, looking for an asphyxiating munchkin. I approached him cautiously. "Wheeler?"

At first, I did not even think that he had heard me. Then, "Hmm?"

"Do you need help with the supplies? I would be happy to pick up a few of those bags, if they are too awkward for you to…"

"Nah," he cut me off, slinging the last of the sacks over his broad shoulders. "I can get them. The others coming?"

He still would not look at me. It was weighing over his mind, too. The child. The gunman. The world. All of it.

I had not answered him; I had instead stood in place scrutinizing him. That is to say, scrutinizing everything. The situation. Not just him.

"Babe?"

"What?" I answered too forcefully. But why could I not figure this out? Why was this whole thing not over and behind us? What was in store for us? "What do you want, Wheeler?"

He looked at me for the first time since I had approached him. And it was not a happy look. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin.

"I just asked if the others were on their way. You don't need to get all pissy about it. "

"Pissy?" I practically spat the word at him. I felt my temper shoot up exponentially. "Who is being 'pissy'? I asked you what you wanted. And clearly what you wanted was to make me angry. Well done, Yankee."

"Look," he said, dropping the sacks with great drama, "I know you went through a lot back there, so I'm really trying to be nice here. All I wanted to know is whether the other three are coming with the goddamn geo-cruiser…"

"There is no need to swear at me, Wheeler…"

"And you fly off the _fucking_ handle." That particular choice word was obviously emphasized for my benefit.

"For your information, _myudak_, they will be here any minute. Will you be able to sit in the cruiser like a good boy, or should we leave you here to throw your pathetic temper tantrum in peace?"

He glared at me. Truly glared. Then, his face softened subtly. "What did that one mean?"

I took a deep breath and controlled my own anger. A smile and a blush both threatened to play at my face. He knew that I was not so fond of being offensive in English. A nasty Russian word that could go largely unnoticed was fine, but translating them into English tended to embarrass me. "It means…" I cleared my throat and looked down, "asshole."

He was silent for a second. Was he that angry with me? Had a crossed a line? I snuck a look up at him. His head was down. Oh, _bozhe moy_, was this to begin all over again? "Wheeler?"

He lifted his face. He was laughing. It was just a chuckle at first, but utterly contagious. I felt a giggle escape me, and soon, we were both laughing as though it were the funniest thing in the world. It felt so good. For the first time since early that morning, I felt so good.

"Oh, God, Babe," he said, trying to communicate through his laughter. Tears were on his face, "you said 'asshole'! That is the greatest thing I have ever heard! Oh, man!" He smiled that perfect American smile at me. "You can call me that word anyt ime you want. What was it again?"

I brushed a tear out of my eye. "It was _myudak_."

"_Myudak_," he repeated. "Any time, babe. You say that, and I promise you, I will break out laughing, thinking of you translating that one. It can be your pet name for me."

I raised my eyebrows, "But what about 'Yankee'?"

Now, it was his turn to raise the eyebrows. "Oh. You would consider that your current pet name for me?"

Oh no. "_Nyet_. It is just…a name I call you. That is all. I do not consider you my pet, so do not go getting any ideas."

"Hey, I'd make a great pet!" he joked, as I turned around to scan the sky again. "I'm like a cat – you could rub my belly and listen to me purr."

I rolled my eyes at that one. However, I was in the mood to give as good as I got. "Actually, Wheeler, you seem more like a puppy dog to me."

"I can handle that. That's nice of you to say, babe."

"_Da_," I said, regarding him over my shoulder. "Now, if I could only figure out how to stop you from doing your thing on my leg, everything would be perfect."

That one left him shocked. I smiled in self-satisfaction. There were very few opportunities to leave Wheeler speechless. I reveled in the silence.

A golden spot appeared in the sky. "Oh, look, Wheeler. The others are here. Let us go." I started to head towards the spot where the cruiser would be landing. As I looked back, Wheeler was still where I had left him. "Wheeler?"

He made no reply. Then, "Give me a second, Babe. That one kinda floored me."

I smiled again as he trotted over to join me as the cruiser landed. The doors opened and Kwame, Gi, and Ma-Ti greeted us. "Hi, guys!" grinned Gi. "Ready to go home? We have so much to tell you!"

"We have much to tell you, too, Gi, " I said. "Some good, and some bad, I am afraid."

"_But_," interrupted Wheeler, slinging an arm around me as we prepared to step into the craft, "it can wait for tomorrow. Right now, I think that we all need to relax and recharge so we can be ready for what's ahead. Right, Lin?" He gave me a smile, squeezed my shoulder, and climbed into the cruiser.

I had wanted to discuss everything that we had encountered while it was fresh in my mind, but everyone seemed content with Wheeler's assessment of our situation. I shook my head as I followed behind him, and as I took my seat beside him, I murmured, loud enough for only him to hear, "_Myudak_."

The other three turned around in bewilderment as Wheeler's laughter filled the Cruiser. I contentedly turned to face the window, closed my eyes, and was soon asleep.


End file.
